


Up In Our Roost

by Justausernameonline



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Pharmercy, Slice of Life, rocket angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justausernameonline/pseuds/Justausernameonline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What-if: Pharah could play the piano.  Mercy on a jog is the first of them all to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up In Our Roost

Under the cover of darkness, Angela ran the perimeter as the sun lowering into the horizon relieved her from the Saharan heat.  It blessed her with a sunset unobscured by sparkling lights or labyrinthine buildings, only a long canvas of sand.  True quiet existed here where a voice could carry itself small into the much of the exposed space.  

     She slowed to a stop, kicking up sand, and brushed sweat from her forehead and chin, wiping them off her shorts.  After a respite in the extreme weather separating the white singlet plastered to her light skin she continued jogging.  

     She could keep going, assured by plenty experience crossing environments like these and wearing much more equipment.  There would be brambly undergrowth scraping her legs in colder land, swamps to constant downpours wrinkling her skin and insects prodding, blood pooling on cracked ground, so without a doubt she ran carefully within distance of the base formed in an abandoned Giza outpost, blaster strapped to her thigh and water packs in a bag jostling between her shoulderblades.  There was something to appreciate when she wasn’t running for her life, when incessant worries that presented themselves were handled unlike brontide bellowing after her, a cold and warm front converging fury.  Alone, watching the sun in its last shining minutes was worth getting sand inside her sneakers.  She forgot her exhaustion while waiting for the stars.

      _“Our destination will be reached in an hour.”_ Widowmaker’s voice cut through the silence.  Angela’s heartbeat skipped as someone shouted in her ear, static overwhelming the comms briefly.  Widowmaker exhaled.  Either it was Tracer or D.va and the ex-Talon agent was having none of it. _“We need to refuel.”_

     The VTOL in use was supposed to arrive with half of its fuel cells functioning.  “What happened? Does anyone need medical attention?” Angela turned back to the base.  Among worn outcropping towards the 2 kilometer-wide perimeter marked by hidden turrets were a few of the buildings, the tallest their base, built from sandstone darkened by time.  Screens on its openings hid the light within.  Satya, Zarya, Mei and Lúcio had been awake prior to seeing her off, and Fareeha was wandering the outpost, armed with a rocket launcher while Torbjörn repaired Raptora.  “It’ll take a while for me to reach you…”

      _“No–”_

      _“She wants food.”_ Tracer chirped.

    _“Yes, Doctor Ziegler, but–”_

      _“Food.”_   Tracer said, echoed by D.va.

     Widowmaker hummed in resignation.  _“Our safehouse in Nice was compromised at 0900 hours by a Talon assault team.  We terminated the safehouse after transferring the non-perishable resources.  T_ _en hours since flying without food.”_

_“’Cause if I perish, who’s flying? Can’t be like a mecha!”_

     Angela smiled in amusement.  “If you report this to Winston, I’m sure dinner will be provided.” 

     “ _I will see to it, Mercy.  Contacting Winston now_.”

     “Understood.” Angela drew her finger from the comms and reached for a water pack.  Without the sun around to beat down her back, she removed her cap.   _Bottoms up_.

      _“You do realize bananas and peanut butter are his calling.”_ Tracer said.  Angela jumped and almost drenched herself.  

_“It will do the job.  I know there were boiled yams…part of my joie de vivre.”_

_“I thought I was…”_

_“Lena, it’s an appetizer.  Tonight is a two-course meal.”_

_“Hah.”_ Tracer giggled.  “ _You know what’d go nicely with that? Dessert!”_

     D.va made a noise relative to dying.   _“Hwajangsiri eodiyeyo? Stop.”_

_“Pardon, D.va.”_

_“It’s on your right!”_   

     “You’re still transmitting.” Angela said.

     Widowmaker swore, leaving Angela chuckling in the desert.  She clapped a hand to her mouth firmly.  Knowing her tendency to laugh into oblivion, laughing alone for an invariably long time without backup would have consequences.  

     But by then it was dusk.  It assured her to let out a final burst of laughter from her system before making her way back.

     Balancing like a flamingo, she shook off as much sand from her sneakers before strolling back to base, tilling the sand with her feet, enjoying their grainy texture.  She stretched as she made her way up the outcropping sloped towards the tallest building, cool air greeting her arms as she dropped them to her sides and unholstered her blaster.  

     As she neared the base, the other buildings flanking her with their ruined walls, a low hum rose not so distantly from where she walked.  She had herself pressed against the side of a building as it crested, growing in pitch and pace until it stepped back down, resuming its pleasant cycle thrice more.  

     Each sound was similar, mechanical, big.  Angela shook her head, amused and bemused once it occurred to her she was actually hearing a piano.  She hadn’t been part of the group sent from the airship to survey the perimeter.   Lúcio’s music included it sparingly, and she only knew when she had asked him.  Her mind mostly contained the tunes, bits, and alarms from medical equipment and her Valkyrie suit and Caduceus Staff.  

     Clearing the area as she approached the music, she credited the reason why it set her at ease in the notes of each chord, meant for instilling a calm, not like relaxing and immobile, but a coursing narrative that swelled into a tidal wave crest after crest.  It rippled and layered, persuading Angela of all things to finally attribute it to water.  She reloaded and started down a corridor formed between two buildings.  

     Broken chords ricocheted off walls and drew her near.   _Hello_. She jogged up to the doorway of one and ducked in.  

     The building’s exterior belied its circular shape, like a tower, the ceiling far from her reach and an open staircase with rails spiraling to another floor.  Narrow windows interspersed on the sandstone walls cast moonlight on the ground, and in the center a grand piano with its top propped up sung, its voice sweeping throughout.  It was transparent, nothing else blocked it.  She made sure to tread quietly around to the front of the piano where she’d seen someone work the pedals across with the slightest movement of their bare foot.

     Her eyes latched onto the rocket launcher and extra ammunition leaning against a cushioned bench.  One of the standard issue Overwatch lamps on the music desk where sheet music would be. The woman seated there running the length of the keyboard in rivulets, face veiled by her hair.  The rest of her clothed in a indigo godet dress showing her arms, the hem meeting the start of her leg prostheses.

     “Good evening, _ya amar_.” 

     Angela had never lowered her blaster so fast.  She switched on the safety lock with clammy hands before joining Fareeha’s side.  “Hey.” She murmured, wiping sweat off her brow.  She never knew Fareeha could play the piano.  Even then, she hadn’t seen Fareeha in the same room with a piano.

     “There’s room to sit.” Fareeha said haltingly, for her mind stayed caught in the music.  “Listen…”

     “I am.” Angela whispered assuringly.  She knelt down, all but overwhelmed by the novel sight as she neared them, glad her blush went unseen.  By luck a plush rug softened the ground.  Unknotting her shoelaces and lining them by a piano leg, she shucked off her socks and sat with crisscrossed legs.  Under the darkness and redolent pulsing sounds, Fareeha intimated an arcane lifetime.

     Even with the height difference she could watch Fareeha perform, tireless with effusive direction in adapting to the instrument’s quirks and baring herself to an invisible crowd.  The combined efforts of the piano and ever-flowing melody silenced Angela, lost in time, watching Fareeha’s supple body match the spring and strike of every note as she would while soaring and eliminating targets.  One melody, in wake of strong waves stirred a faint memory of Pharah in a battle’s aftermath, a comforting presence inspecting alongside Mercy each teammate for wounds.  

     She was encapsulated to the end.  As the notes floated off with growing distance as they hung to their last quaver, Fareeha lifting her hands from the keyboard in finality, Angela saw her stir, as if she had evened out along with the music.  She had felt it too.  

     Once the walls swallowed all sound did she face Angela, tilting her chin.  Angela remembered herself then, leaning towards the bench, and straightened. 

     The lamplight cast Fareeha in stark relief, from her relaxed shoulders and long weathered hands folded over the skirt of her dress.  In her eyes were a smile apiece.  Angela looked back in adoration.  “How was it?”

     “Loved it.” Angela’s voice was muffled from her palm pressed to her mouth.  She hadn’t felt it there.  She flexed her numb fingers, eyeing Fareeha self-consciously.  She cleared her throat.  

     “I loved it.” 

     Fareeha leaned forward in a bow.  "Encore?” She asked with a lilt, her voice tender and eyes bright.  

     Angela chuckled softly.  “I’m not sure! But I know I’ll hear it again in my dreams,  _liechtli_.  You play beautifully, Fareeha.”    

     “Thank you.” Fareeha looked more than pleased.  “That’s my goal: for me to be in yours.” As Fareeha smoothened her skirt, Angela rose from the rug, her hands bleached in the light.  

     “How long was it since you’ve played for someone?” She asked.  Her chest tightened without warning like a hard blow.

     Fareeha pursed her lips.  “Hm.  Oh.” She cringed suddenly.  After a month together, Angela saw it from her slight frown and faraway eyes meeting an imaginary mirror.  “A few weeks ago.  Someone was selling a used upright and I…advertised.  It was during the heat wave week in Colorado, the reconnaissance of the base claimed by Helix.  You had refused to go outside even in your thinnest clothes, using so much cold water in the condo with Aleks that Lena worried about the water bill, believe me.  Enough of that, the upright was like homecoming: I played until the seller had a buyer.  Someone was crying.  Me.  

     “I used to play together with my team and the late Captain Khalil, him with the oud,” Fareeha drew a pear-shaped body in the air and indicated a bent neck, her brows furrowed, “I, on anything functional such like this grand that _amazes_ me with the care it has received in a remote outpost.  Saleh, he sings like a lark.  Tariq still sends me clips of them under the belief I’ve been honorably discharged.”

      _You were_.  Angela wanted to redirect, but she stayed quiet.  Fareeha swiveled to the edge of the bench, taking the lamp along.  “May I?” She pointed to Angela’s equipment.  “We’re safe here.”

      “Do what you will, but the blaster stays on.”  

     Fareeha’s skin warmed to russet.  “Damn it, Angela.” She chuckled, reaching out.  Angela’s laughter was distant in her ears.  She focused on Fareeha’s hands removing the bag, watching the fingers that’d worked music on the keys brush over her shoulders as another hand smoothened damp hair from her vision, then the soft breathing against her face, staring back at worried eyes like an actor looking into a camera’s lens.

     She averted her eyes, aware the change in her feelings were baseless, only knocking her off-balance in a matter of seconds.  Wounded and hollow she accepted Fareeha’s embrace.  Pressing her cheek to Fareeha’s neck she let the steady heartbeat wash over hers, sorely needing to find ground.  

     If their roles had been in any way switched, she would do the same for Fareeha without question.  

     The hug, modified by over-the-top patting on the small of her back, was helpful too.  “I’m feeling better, Fareeha, I mean it.” Angela said, after the emptiness subsided.  “I’m tired.  But I’m listening.” She tugged at the neck of her singlet, her smile sheepish, hating herself for floating.  

     She considered upending a full bottle on her head, lobbing it over her shoulder to complete the motion when Fareeha kissed her temple.  Angela sighed and pressed herself closer.

     “No problem, Angela…how many concerts have you been to?” 

     “A few.  Hazy memories, though, with family.” 

     They separated.  Fareeha plopped on the bench and grinned.  “Feeling a little flat, I hear. Sit beside me! You’re too far away.”

     “ _Schatz,_  s _eelewärmerli,_ I am covered in sweat. Still sweating, if I may add.” Fareeha’s skin still glistened in the lamplight from the physical work, but Angela wasn’t taking any stinking chances.  

     “You just hugged me.”

     “Only for a little while!”

     Fareeha opened her mouth.  Angela poked her stomach insistently.  “Don’t say ‘it doesn’t apply on the battlefield.’ We will stick, more than…more than usual.”  _Verdammt._

     “ _Tubbel_ , don’t you see?” There was thrill in being insulted in her native language.  “We’ll be ever closer.”

     “If you say so.” 

     Fareeha made way for Angela on her right, adjusting her skirt, using Angela’s shoulder for balance.  Angela crossed her leg over the other, quiet, even so as Fareeha took her hand and deposited it on the key with a discordant _plink_.  

     “Even that sounds pleasant.” Angela said.

     “Great tuning.” Fareeha said fondly.  “This could be illegal– _we’re_ illegal, perhaps that cancels both actions.”

     “No.” Angela laughed.  She eyed the name of the piano as she found Fareeha’s shoulders and massaged away their soreness, committing  _Steinway and Sons_ and its symbol to memory.  

     She met Fareeha’s eyes, smiling with her eyebrows raised.  

     “Would you like a beginner’s lesson, free of charge?” Fareeha asked.      

     “What does it entail?”

     “Starting with the posture, of course.  A run-through of health risks musicians fear to make you take me seriously.  Your distance and height from the keyboard.  You will play…” Fareeha pinched her thumb and pointer fingers together, shutting her eyes. “…on a grand instrument.”

     “I highly doubt it.” Angela said.

     “It’s about the little things you must watch over, _ya hayati._ That, and having a permanent marker under your wrist following you everywhere.” Angela raised a brow, and Fareeha all but collapsed in mirth.  “Give it a try.” She breathed.

     Angela made a face.  “Okay.” Fareeha left her to shift to the middle of the bench, disliking the loss of warmth.  She shut her eyes, seeking Fareeha’s form.  It was as regular as sitting, if not with a straight spine relaxed to gaze at the instrument.  Remembering Fareeha’s hands were apart from its body, she tried to copy.  

     They were like that for the next few minutes; Fareeha correcting her inbetween brief information about the piano, Angela not understanding in its entirety but doing her best.  

     Life itself taught her music was as life-saving as medicine, Fareeha confessed as she unglued Angela’s wrists from the end of the white keys, teaching her to keep her muscles relaxed.  Medicine could mend bones and tissue, research could be spent to prevent epidemics and alert populations, and saving lives while it gave control, to the individual mind and the worldly health for living, and music was another given to keep existing.  It offered imagination and communication where words failed to describe, through undertones and delivery of a voice unique to the makers.   

     Its effect was well-recorded– in published papers from those in the fields concerning and one of their very own, and beyond the academic writings Fareeha had brought her another perspective, intimate in their solitude by soft lamplight and a lesson shared like notes in a classroom.  They were going to harvest the night, sowing time for the next chance.

     “How did you come to play the piano?” Angela asked.  She continued playing a scale from the middle of the keyboard, shifting her thumb under her other fingers with difficulty.  Fareeha followed along with her left hand after Angela’s right.  There were some things she couldn’t fathom, more so playing both hands in tandem.

     “’For enrichment’.” Fareeha replied.  “My family’s careers have always been linear, progressing from ranks until they returned in coffins.  My mother,” Angela nodded and hit a wrong note, “you know she didn’t want me to follow.  At the moment I expressed interest in old Overwatch, she signed me for afterschool lessons.  It worked for a time, Angela.  I would never admit it to her face.  Not a lesson was missed.  I didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, I wanted to see where it would take me…and here I am.  

     “It fills you.  Time falls away when you practice and you hold time in performance.  The vibrations are enough such that you can feel it even if you cannot listen.”   

     “Mmf.” Angela drew her hands to her lap, wonder lifting her heart.  “This tower is the place for it, you mean?” Fareeha’s eyes brightened and at her smile, Angela blushed, feeling her lips curve upwards.  “No obstructions forgoing the clarity of the music.”

     “Yes, my novice.” Fareeha said, leaning towards Angela.  Lacing their fingers together, she went for the corner of Angela’s mouth for a quick peck, but Angela turned a degree more, capturing her bottom lip and sucking it softly. Fareeha let out a noise of surprise but recovered, pressing insistently against Angela’s chest that Angela had to hug her waist to stop from tipping over.  

     The kiss lasted until they came up for air with Fareeha mumbling, red all over.  Angela’s eyes flicked to her lips, wanting more but holding back.  She dipped her head closer with an innocent smile, breathing deeply. 

     “I was about to say, the earth without art would be just ‘eh’.” Fareeha said.

     “Oh, I saw that on your thermos.”

     “Then I’ll get you a matching pair.” 

     “I am humbled, Fareeha.” Angela really was.  “But another time, when Athena ensures delivery orders can be done.”

     Fareeha groaned.  Then she agreed, swiveling her legs that they fell to Angela’s lap.  “Perhaps you still want to…?”

     “If you have another one you remember.” Angela assured her, loosening her grip around Fareeha’s waist. 

     “One day you’ll listen to an Egyptian piece I’ve learned when a piano presents itself.” Fareeha said with determination as Angela extracted herself, giving Fareeha one more kiss on her parted lips before she sat on the rug.  

     “A day I’ll wait for.” She replied, warmth caught in her chest while an undercurrent of affection emerged.  

     Fareeha moved to the center of the bench, gathering herself at the start.  Rolling her shoulders, she lifted a foot to the sustain pedal, and, by the flourish of her left hand began, the right not too far behind.  Notes curled from the shadows, figures trailing light as the tower murmured.

**Author's Note:**

> was originally for rocket angel week  
> the original is on my blog under the same name  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
